


Thrymskvida

by Norickayer



Series: The Saga of Loki: Hero of Earth-616 [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Loki: Agent of Asgard, Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Female Character of Color, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Loki is sometimes a girl and never ever a guy, Ward is a Nazi, dude in distress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Norickayer/pseuds/Norickayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant Ward, agent of HYDRA has captured Phil Coulson, but Skye is who they really need. </p><p>OR</p><p>Armed only with tricks and wit, Loki leads a prince(ss) into hostile territory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Season 1 of Agents of Shield, specifically during "The Only Light in the Darkness".
> 
> The pronouns and names used for Loki (and, for that matter, for America) change as the POV character shifts from May to Loki to Coulson, and as Coulson gains more information about their identities.
> 
> The Thrymskvida has actually already been told in [Marvel comics](http://www.scans-daily.dreamwidth.org/2986977.html), but what’s one more?
> 
> This retelling takes the original story elements and remixes them with Marvel canon: _Armed only with tricks and wit, Loki leads a prince(ss) into hostile territory._

“We agreed on radio silence until you were ready for pick up, so this had better be good.”

“Minor issue: they didn’t leave the girl here.”

“Tough shit. The deal’s still the same. You’ve got 24 hours before we send a strike team.”

Grant Ward, Agent of HYDRA, hefts the metal pipe in his hand, testing its weight. “I’ve got Coulson. It’ll have to be enough.”

-

Agent Melinda May’s comm link registers an incoming message just as her mark makes his move. She ignores it. If it’s Coulson, he’d want her to protect the civilian first- that was what his whole speech in Providence was about. She’d barely managed to convince him to send her on this opp. Only when Agent Koenig backed her up on the importance of Coulson staying safe, as the highest ranking SHIELD operative still alive, had he agreed to stay behind.

The white SUV makes a U-turn and speeds away, taking the target, a cellist named Audrey Nathan, to safety. Assured of their escape, May and Fitz hop out of their own vehicle to apprehend the criminal. Marcus Daniels looks more confused than dangerous, but Agent May hasn’t made that particular mistake since the Academy. As Fitz’s gadgets swarm around, focusing light on Daniels, he slows to a stop before them.

“What-“ he mumbles as he tries to shield his eyes from the light.

“Mr. Daniels, you are being apprehended by SHIELD. Come quietly and this doesn’t have to get messy,” May warns.

“SHIELD,” he growls. “Come back for more?”

May glances to Fitz, who looks even more uneasy than she feels. The young scientist mashes buttons on his control panel furiously, and his creations jump to obey, the lights getting brighter and brighter.

“You did this to yourself,” May replies, and her hands don’t shake at all in their grip on her gun.

“No,” Daniels disagrees, “HYDRA did.” He lashes out, a dark void slashing through the beams of light, sucking away the ambient energy. Fitz and May are thrown from their feet. The cold asphalt burns as May skids across it, the friction scratching through her SHIELD-issue jumpsuit and taking a layer of skin with it.

“Shit,” she curses. She scrambles to her feet as quickly as possible, but it’s of no use.

Daniels is gone.

May’s comm link springs to life again. Breathing heavily, she answers.

“Agent May.”

“We just got a message from base- HYDRA found Providence.” Jemma Simmons’ voice is artificially flat, an ocean of emotion barely held at bay. “Agent Ward was just able to get a message out before they cut communications. HYDRA has Ward and Coulson.”

-

“Identify yourselves!”

“Trixie Lyesmith, of SHIELD. My pronouns are ze/zir. This is my associate, Amy; She/her.” May has encountered this style of introduction before (SHIELD takes all kinds of people), but it isn’t anything approaching common. It throws her off for a moment, making her pause in her analysis of the two strangers. May wonders if that’s the point.

Lyesmith is as baby-faced as Fitz, but the spark in zir eyes reminds May more of Coulson. Zir friend looks like someone’s daughter, home from high school. She’s decked out in a hooded sweatshirt and sneakers, even, although the muscles in her legs and the way she stands belies a familiarity with fighting- a schoolyard brawler, maybe.

“Give me one good reason to think you’re not HYDRA,” Agent Triplett demands, not a muscle removed from a perfect shooting stance. Only one eye is visible behind the sights of his SHIELD-issued pistol.

“I could ask the same of you,” Lyesmith responds, zir hands held up casually to zir shoulders, “But let’s cut to the chase: I owe Coulson a favor.”

“How do you even know he’s in trouble?” Skye’s stance has improved greatly since she  decided to join SHIELD. She drew her gun almost as fast as Triplett did.

The strangers don’t answer- Lyesmith is a tiger poised to pounce, energy coiled into a ball; zir companion is a brick wall.

“You aren’t an Agent,” May observes. Ze walks all wrong, holds zirself more like a swordsman than a soldier. Lyesmith could be from Operations, or a rogue Science division recruit, but May doubts it. Her instincts have been honed by decades of dedication, training, and espionage work. She trusts them without question.

“Didn’t say I was,” Lyesmith agrees easily. “I’m a contractor.”

Without contact with SHIELD’s database, there’s little to contradict zir story. There’s nothing to confirm it, either.

“With respect, Agent May, we don’t have the manpower to protect Ms. Nathan, apprehend Daniels, _and_ launch a rescue opp for Ward and Coulson.” And damn if Simmons’ assessment of the situation isn’t accurate.

‘Amy’ crosses her arms and stares down three loaded guns as if she does this every day. Teenagers.

“Alright,” May decides. She holsters her gun and motions for Triplett and Skye to do the same. “HYDRA has two of our agents. You can’t exactly make things worse. Simmons, Skye: fill them in on what we know.”

Jemma Simmons rushes forward, a tablet cradled in her arms.

“Here’s what we have: our agents still have their badges, and the GPS enables us to track down-“

“And HYDRA didn’t notice?” the teenager shoves her hands into her pockets and looks balefully at Simmons.

Lyesmith takes the tablet out of her hands and studies the map shown. “Yeah, that screams ‘trap’.”

“Either way, they’re holed up in this mansion in LA that belongs to an associate of Ian Quinn. If it’s anything like his place in Malta, the security will be crazy-good,” Skye warns, subconsciously pressing and hand against her stomach. “I barely made it in, and we didn’t get out unscathed.”

Lyesmith looks up and catches Skye’s eye. “Are you a hacker?”

Skye grins. “ _Am_ I.”

“Convenient,” Lyesmith says idly.

“We can’t spare any agents, but we can at least set you up with some gear. I assume you have a plan?”

Trixie Lyesmith smiles.

“Always.”

-

“Loki, what the fuck is up with ‘Amy’?”

“We’re lying low. Do you think I usually go by ‘Trixie’?”

“I don’t give a shit. My name doesn’t need to be low-profile. My fucking name is America, chica, I don’t need you to give me an ‘easier’ one.”

“Fine. I’ll consult you next time we need aliases, yes?”

“Peachy.”

-

Getting in is easy. It’s in Loki’s nature to sneak into places where ze is not wanted. Ze sees a locked door and picks it. It’s as much a part of Loki as shapeshifting is, perhaps more. Ze isn’t even out of practice- the casino heist with Lorelai was just weeks ago, to say nothing of breaking into the most secure vault of Asgardia.

There are guards at all the entrances, even the creative ones. HYDRA or SHIELD, there is no longer a distinction. The two infiltrators take them out with little fanfare and less noise. They are invisible, of course- Loki isn’t one to give up any possible advantage for the sake of ‘fair play’.

There hasn’t been much time for recon- there could be a silent alarm, there could be hidden security cameras; even invisible, there could be any number of detectors or alerts to catch Skye and Trixie skulking through the halls.

That’s ok. Let them be expected.

The tile floor is hard and cold beneath their shoes, but it’s easier to navigate silently than wood would be. Every second door requires a passcode, and any intruders would need a hacker of the highest order to get through the best locks money can buy.

They’re inside in minutes.

America isn’t the only one chafing against their disguise. Some days Loki’s slighter form feels as natural as any (and more than most), but today it pinches and paints a glaze of anxiety over every thought. If ze could be certain ze wouldn’t be recognized, Loki would be in zir usual form, with broader shoulders and a flatter chest, but ze’s burnt that bridge already. If ze knew they’d be called to Earth-19999 on a Quest, ze wouldn’t have showed zir real face to the local Avengers.

Ah well. One more challenge to circumvent.

Loki is Loki, not matter zir form.

Loki is Loki, and ze lies as easily and as naturally as ze breathes. Ze knows the taste of a lie on zir tongue, the sound of it curling in the air, the feel of it beneath zir fingers.

Loki’s plan is going perfectly, which means something is wrong.

This is too convenient, too simple. The guards are unmodified humans. All security protocols seem to be surveillance, not barriers. The locks are just challenging enough for a talented human hacker to open.

They are expected, wanted even.

Or, well, no. Not them _specifically_ -

Loki glances in the direction zir companion. Empty air greets zir, a function of the invisibility amulet ze stole from Lorelai not-so-long ago.

“Trouble?” she asks, Skye’s voice uncharacteristically grim.

“Worse: none.”

-

Loki spoke too soon.

Trouble soon finds them in the form of a squadron of HYDRA agents, conveniently distinguished from civilian security officers by their SHIELD uniforms. Each of them is wearing a set of goggles- probably heat vision. Great.

“How did you get in here?” a HYDRA agent with close-cropped red hair demands.

“Magic,” Loki answers.

The agents do not find this answer satisfactory.

-

Loki _has_ a gun for this disguise, but ze really isn’t fond of using it. Zir companion makes do with her own fists, and Loki does what ze does best: sneaks around and changes the rules.

“Let us through, and your friend keeps his head,” Loki barters, pressing the blade of zir knife into the HYDRA agent’s neck. Loki’s drops the invisibility spell, hindered more by its presence now that their opponents can detect them. The third agent, the one not busy fighting, sneers.

“Kill him, and two more will-“

“Grow in his place, blah blah blah, whatever,” Loki finishes. “But he will be dead _now_. Deal or not?”

“Not,” the agent hisses, but that doesn’t matter because Loki was really only stalling so that zir companion could finish with her opponent and knock this one out as well.

She does, with great gusto. She shrugs off the invisibility amulet, revealing Skye’s face.

“Here,” she says, shoving it at Loki. “This thing’s more trouble than it’s worth in a fight.”

This is about the time when a new agent enters the room, gun cocked and aimed at Loki’s head. He’s tall, with a muscular build and short brown hair. In other words, he looks entirely forgettable and almost indistinguishable from the other HYDRA agents they’ve seen that day.

Regardless, this one says something new:

“Get away from the girl,” he orders, keeping his eyes trained on Loki. But he wants to glance at Skye. Loki can tell these things.

“You’d be Agent Ward, then.”

“Put the gun down,” he reiterates.

“We aren’t leaving without Coulson,” America says in Skye’s voice.

Then things get messy.

-

“Skye, wait!” Ward pleads, a thin film of vulnerability in his voice not remotely obscuring the fact that he’s holding her in a choke hold. “We can help each other- I won’t ask you to hurt anyone, just decrypt the hard drive. There’s so much I can tell you about your father-“

“Don’t have one of those. Seems overrated,” his opponent replies. She twists his arm back on itself, forcing him to break the hold. Ward stares for a moment at the quickly bruising skin.

“What did Coulson do to you?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, pendejo.”

 

Meanwhile Loki is several rooms away, and has zir eye on the prize:

One Agent Phil Coulson: slightly sedated, efficiently bound, somewhat confused.

“Can I help you?” he asks politely, graying brows slightly furrowed and a polite smile plastered on his battered face.

Loki stands in the doorway and weighs the benefits of a dramatic reveal versus getting away from HYDRA as fast as possible.

Unfamiliar terrain, a wounded hostage, and being vastly outnumbered tips the scale toward ‘run away’.

It’s better not to burn.

“Trixie Lyesmith. We’re the extraction team.” If there’s one thing to be said about SHIELD agents, it’s that they tend to catch on fast once you speak their language. Coulson merely nods and tries to stand up.

After a few seconds of watching him struggle, Loki decides to help. Ze strides over and casually snaps the plastic zip ties holding Coulson’s ankles together, as well as the one binding his wrists behind his back. Surrounded by superhumans, Loki so rarely is able to show off zir own strength.

“Here,” ze says, handing Coulson the handgun from zir own SHIELD-issue shoulder holster. “You’re probably a better shot anyway.”

“I hope you’re one of ours,” Coulson says with a smile as he follows ‘Trixie’ back through the halls. “How’s your intel? As far as I’ve been able to figure out, one of our team, Ward, is a HYDRA plant. He has a hard drive full of critical information, along with all the perks of a Level 7 SHIELD clearance. He didn’t let on what they need me for, but I assume it isn’t my sparkling personality.”

“I rather think you’re the bait,” Loki says idly, peering around a corner to locate- yes. There they are: two figures locked in combat: an agent of SHIELD-turned-HYDRA and Loki’s own co-conspirator.

Loki’s analysis is interrupted and rendered moot by the HYDRA agent who sneaks up behind them and pistol-whips the back of zir head. Ze falls to the ground, landing hard on hands and knees. Zir vision blurs for a moment before clearing. Gotta love Asgardian durability.

Loki swings a leg back and turns over, catching zir assailant off-guard and bringing him to the ground. A figure lunges in Loki’s peripheral vision-

Oh, it’s just Coulson: his borrowed gun is held at the ready, and he only has eyes for Ward and Skye. Loki wonders if he has the sense to aim for vital organs.

Then the HYDRA agent reaches toward his dropped weapon, and Loki has other things to worry about.

-

They sent Skye in. Why would they send Skye in? She might have insisted, given her closeness with Ward, but why in God’s name would May let her go?

Phil readies his borrowed gun, waiting for an opening. Skye and Ward are too close together. Coulson still feels like he’s wearing an iron suit, the sedative not totally metabolized by his body. Shooting now, he risks hitting Skye.

Ward blocks a punch and moves in for a jab, but Skye brings her leg up. Ward moves to catch her kick, and- what?

Skye is athletic and has been doing well in her training. Her legs are stronger than her arms, but even with that, she shouldn’t have been able to knock her superior officer down with that kick. How did she-?

Coulson takes his shot, looking to take Ward out of the fight rather than kill him. Ward gasps when the bullet hits his thigh, but he doesn’t scream. Coulson has seen trained assassins react more, and the implications worry him.

“Skye-!” he calls to her. She turns to look at him, and her face is all wrong. There’s no recognition in her eyes, only mild curiosity. Coulson wonders if it’s the concussion talking, because as she steps toward him, she looks less and less like his agent. Her hair curls, her skin darkens, and her black SHIELD bodysuit is replaced by loud red-white-and-blue. A black bird is perched on her shoulder. This completely different woman catches his arm and helps support him as his knees weaken under him. Maybe the drugs are affecting him more than he expected. Good thing he didn’t take that shot earlier, who knows what he would’ve hit.

“What did you-?” he gasps, head swimming. The woman grimaces.

“Shit. Which way did-“ she hesitates, glancing at Coulson’s face before continuing “-Lyesmith go?”

Coulson wordlessly points to their point of entry, where he’s left his rescuer to fend for herself. The not-Skye exhales loudly, not quite weary enough to be a sigh.

“Looks like we gotta go save zir ass.”

There’s blood on the floor, so it would be inaccurate to say there is “no sign” of Lyesmith. The skid marks and broken drywall are more like a giant neon sign saying ‘they went this way!’

They find the unconscious HYDRA agent lying on the floor about fifty yards down the corridor. The blood continues on.

Coulson steps carefully as to not smear the blood or get it on his shoes.

Not-Skye doesn’t bother.

“You’d better still be breathing when I find you, chica,” she mutters as she follows the trail to a closed door. “-or I’ll tell your boyfriends _all_ about your internet history.”

“This is probably a bad time to ask, but does your extraction plan work with one man down?”

Not-Skye shoves at the door experimentally, then steps back. “The plan doesn’t need _any_ men.” One kick shatters the heavy, reinforced door.

And there’s Lyesmith. Her long curly black hair has been torn from ‘Trixie’s’ bun, and instead tangles in a birds’ nest around her head, almost obscuring the damage done to her face. Her nose is bleeding, and the skin around her left eye is beginning to swell. There’s another bird flapping around in this room, disturbing papers with each beat of its wings. If Coulson is hallucinating, it’s rather elaborate.

“America? Where’s your- ah. Sorry, I must have been too distracted to keep up your disguise.”

“What the hell happened to you?”

Lyesmith limps toward them, leaning heavily on white countertops. She shoves a black, slightly bloodied object at Coulson.

“I hate HYDRA,” she says bitterly. “What ever happened to the days when the best you all had were muskets? I miss the muskets.” ~~Not-Skye~~   America eyes her companion’s leg, especially the dark liquid only evident by the slight shine added to her black pants.

“You got yourself shot?”

“Not on _purpose_.”

“Great plan,” America says.

“We got Coulson, didn’t we?” Lyesmith says with a glare.

“Not to interrupt, but shouldn’t we be leaving about now?” Coulson asks the two strangers.

“Yeah,” America answers, “Let’s go.” She kicks a portal into the wall.

Coulson stares at it blankly, unable to muster the energy to properly react.

“Are we bringing the birds?”

- 

Coulson takes one step onto the bus before his team erupts with noise.

“You’re back!” fights with “You’re alive!” juxtaposed with “You actually did it?”, the last from Skye.

Agent May notices it first, but Simmons is the first to comment.

“Where’s Ward?” the young scientist’s face is pinched in concern, a spark of ill-ease in her eyes betraying her fears. Fitz looks from Coulson to Lyesmith in horror, searching their faces for answers.

Coulson ignores the questions for now: that will be a long story. First:

“Daniels?”

“Dealt with,” May reports.

“Aubrey?”

“Safe.”

“You didn’t _leave_ him?” Fitz demands, unwilling to be postponed. Coulson sighs.

“Unfortunately, no,” he answers, stepping aside to reveal America, who is single-handedly carrying the unconscious Grant Ward over one shoulder like a bag of flour.

“Unfortunately?” Skye echoes.

“HYDRA stormed Providence. Agent Koenig is dead. The only other person who knew where we were…” he tilts his head in the direction of Ward’s body.

If it were just May, he wouldn’t have to circle around the subject. But it isn’t just her. They aren’t two agents against the world anymore, and haven’t been for years.

Triplett connects the dots first. He has the advantage of experience, after all.

“He sold us out.”

“He wouldn’t!” Fitz defends, “He didn’t! Ward is the one who warned us about the break-in!”

“It was a set-up,” Coulson explains gently. “He knocked me out with a length of pipe.”

“You must be mistaken,” Simmons pleads, her even, reasonable voice shaken by the evidence of betrayal.

“I’m really not. It was a trap. They wanted someone to come for me.” He looks down at the SHIELD hard drive still clutched in his hand. “I’m beginning to guess why.”

“He wanted Skye,” Lyesmith interjects. May turns her head so that she can focus all of her attention on Lyesmith. She’s suspicious, but interested. Coulson still isn’t feeling so hot, and he trusts May’s instincts better than his own.

“How do you know that?”

“He takes a hostage, sends a distress call as bait, and hides in a lair you’d need a hacker to break into. Out of your whole team, Skye is the only person you would have absolutely needed to get in there.” Lyesmith shrugs, “It’s what I would have done.”

“It’s a trick, he’s undercover,” Fitz hypothesizes desperately.

Skye reluctantly shakes her head, a look of dawning horror in her eyes. “Nobody in SHIELD knew HYDRA was there. He wouldn’t have had time to infiltrate.”

“He can’t-“ Fitz cuts himself off with a strangled cry and quickly leaves the room. Simmons watches him go.

“He just needs a moment,” she reassures everyone.

Coulson will grant him that. Hell, he wishes he had time for a moment alone. “Sure. Triplett, can you get Ward settled somewhere secure? We don’t want him waking up before we’re ready.”

Triplett gives a curt nod and a “Yes sir,” but he ultimately needs America’s help to transport Ward’s limp body down to a cell.

-

 “May, where’d you dig up these two? I didn’t know you had those kind of contacts,” Coulson says when the others are busy treating Lyesmith’s leg wound. The level of damage to the leg (i.e. not much), as well as America’s superior strength suggests that at least one of the strangers is not entirely human. Coulson still isn’t sure how much of the magic star portals and sometimes-invisible talking birds actually happened, so that gets a pass. For now.

Agent Melinda May, who was previously riding a high of relief that came from getting her commanding officer back relatively intact, gives Coulson a look of mild horror.

“Lyesmith said ze knew you. Said ze was repaying you for something. You really don’t-?”

Coulson shakes his head. “Not unless it happened after Loki shoved a spear into my heart. Everything between that and returning to duty is still,” Coulson hums and makes a wiggly non-committal hand gesture.

“That is not reassuring.” If they met in the interim-? If Lyesmith was part of Project T.A.H.I.T.I.-?

Coulson agrees. He’s had enough subterfuge for the day, and considering that he ~~works~~ ~~worked~~ works for an espionage organization, that says a lot. He’s always valued straightforwardness, when the situation calls for it.

He raises his voice, and takes a step toward ‘Trixie Lyesmith’, who is seated on the counter in their improvised medbay, keeping weight off of the injured leg.

“Do I know you? Agent May tells me that you owed me a favor, but I can’t remember ever seeing you before today.”

Lyesmith smiles, not at all concerned about being caught in a lie. America is similarly nonplussed, and is, in fact, typing out a text message on her phone.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly me who owes you.” Lyesmith carefully levers zir body off of the counter, landing softly on zir injured leg. Ze spreads zir arms wide, and zir black jumpsuit disappears with a wave of golden sparks, replaced by green leather, lots of gold, and tiny metal scales. Coulson has never seen its like, but something in the workmanship of the leather reminds him of Thor. Coulson wrenches his gaze away from the plaited leather to look up at Lyesmith’s face. It hasn’t changed. Well, the jaw is maybe a hair wider, zir features a touch blunter. High cheekbones and severe eyebrows are framed by a golden diadem topped with gently curling horns.

Lyesmith. Lie-smith.

“Loki,” Coulson says, without any conscious thought. How could there be conscious thought, with that night repeating over in his head. For a moment memory supersedes vision, and it’s the Loki from the Heli-carrier who faces him again.

His pulse quickens. He feels his hands begin to shake and clenches them pre-emptively.

The image fades just a bit. Coulson catalogues the differences to ground himself in the now. The air is warm; the med bay smells of anti-bacterial soap; there are no intruder alarms blaring. This Asgardian wears much more green than Loki ever did, and is younger. The cheekbones are the same, but the nose is different, straighter.

And this person has saved his life.

“Although,” Lie-smith continues, “It wasn’t exactly _you_ whom he killed, was it?”

“Non sum quails eram,” Coulson answers immediately. “I’m not who I once was.”

“Who among us is?” the Asgardian agrees. America snorts in barely-contained amusement.

When they leave, they do take the birds.

-

“Ze said zir name was ‘Tricksy Lie-smith’. You are all trained government operatives. How did none of you pick up on that?”

“I was sedated,” Coulson says in self-defense.

“Of course it was a pseudonym, but anyone can string a couple references to Norse mythology together. It wasn’t any more suspicious than anything else ze could’ve called zirself.”

“Hindsight’s 20/20.”


	2. Back Home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and America limp back to Earth-616 to lick their wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to write this, it just kind of happened. Here, have some team interaction.  
> Some mention of Billy/Loki/Teddy in this chapter, but it isn't central to anything so I haven't tagged it.

“How is it that you get shot every time you go to Earth-19999?” America asks, her amusement meshed with a little sympathy for her injured teammate.

Loki is sitting at the kitchen table, zir long gauzy skirt hitched up to allow Teddy to wrap a clean bandage over the quickly-healing bullet wound in zir leg.

“Karma, probably,” David suggests, despite knowing full well that that isn’t how karma works at all.

“The Devil’s own luck,” Loki says instead, and hisses slightly as Teddy secures the bandage.

“Sorry,” Teddy says softly, and strokes a line down Loki’s arm to punctuate his apology.

Loki shivers despite zirself. Ze still hasn’t quite gotten used to how physically affectionate Billy and Teddy are. Ze never craved the touch of other people until ze realized what ze was missing. Ze leans into Teddy’s hand. Soon, ze will manage to initiate these casual touches. Soon.

“Do you think the Avengers and SHEILD will put two and two together and get Loki?” Teddy asks. He keeps his hand on Loki’s arm, because he is wonderful and lovely. His grasp is warm and firm and makes Loki feel grounded and included. It helps zir to mentally separate zirself from the Loki who Burned. The Old Loki never felt like this. This is zirs, and zirs alone.

“From what we saw of Coulson’s team, it looks like they have more than enough to worry about,” America answers, looking uneasy.

“Who cares?” Loki responds breezily. It’s hard to worry too much about a group of strangers in another universe when ze’s here with zir own team, the people ze cares about the most. “What are they going to do about it?”

Teddy groans.

“You had to say it, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“You jinxed it. You did that on purpose. Is this a God of Chaos thing? Are you like, contractually obligated to do that?”

Loki scoffs, but then pauses and thinks seriously about this possibility.

“Maybe,” ze admits. “That would explain a few things, actually.”

-

“Is there actually any rhyme or reason to where you send me, or do you just pick these destinations for shits and giggles?”

“It’s more like a thoughtful, careful throw of a dart,” David answers. He places one hand over his eyes and mimes throwing a dart past Loki’s shoulder.

“This is harder than it looks,” Billy gripes, hovering gently above the tile floor of Loki’s kitchen. “I have to find universes that are similar enough to our own that I can actually figure out who we’re supposed to be helping, with problems that are simple enough to fix in one trip, but complex enough that the locals aren’t able to handle on their own, but which won’t screw up their timeline or create a paradox. This is like the magic equivalent of Calculus, give me a break.”

Loki shrugs. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to send me to fulfil a debt to every person any version of me harmed, it’s going to be a long winter ahead.”

“That’s not- Look, if I wanted you to clean up Loki-19999’s mess, you’d have been working construction or passing out golden apples in Manhattan. It’s- I don’t know, Loki. It’s a magic thing. The magic knows who the MVPs are in each dimension, the people who have the loudest stories.”

“And Agent Coulson is one of them?” Loki asks incredulously.

“And Skye, actually. I don’t make the rules.”

“What’s the matter, Loki? Short, balding guys don’t do it for you?” David asks, leaning back on the countertop.

“Why, David, are you-“ Loki starts to say, zir voice hovering dangerously close to seductive tones.

“Don’t be an ass,” America interrupts, “You don’t need to be attractive to be important to the multiverse.”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” Loki argues, without much force. Zir memories of Before are faded now, since Loki has ~~discovered~~ ~~decided~~ accepted that a different Loki lived through them, but some things are still discernable: like how much easier it was to trick people when Loki wore Sif’s body, the child’s body, any body but the hunched, eyebrow-less figure that haunts zir dreams. People are simply more trusting when ze is more visually palatable, more willing to believe in the goodness of Loki.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all very pretty, either get to the point or let me search through the Multiverse in peace,” Billy complains.

“Will you at least tell us what it is you’ve been looking for?” David asks in exasperation, for the third time today.

Billy shakes his head quickly, with an almost nervous energy. It’s a motion suited more to Tommy than to his darker twin.

“If it works, you’ll see,” he says ominously.

“And if it doesn’t, we don’t have to worry about it?” Teddy guesses.

“It’s too late for that. You’ve been at this all week. We’re worried.”

“It’s not bad. If it works it will be good, if it doesn’t, nothing will change,” Billy reassures them.

“Take a break eventually,” America demands.

“I will. I will.” Billy sounds distracted, but Teddy and Loki won’t let him avoid sleep and food forever.

That will have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people seem to treat "karma" as a synonym for the common phrase "what goes around comes around", but it's actually a specific spiritual tenant of Buddhism. David knows this, he's just trying to score rhetorical points.

**Author's Note:**

> In the Norse Thrymskvida, Thor awakens one morning to find his hammer has been stolen in the night. He immediately appeals to Loki for help getting it back. Loki discovers that the Jotun Thrym has taken it, and has demanded Freya’s hand in marriage for its return. Thor begs Freya for help, but she tells him to fuck off, so instead Loki dresses Thor up as a bride and off they go to Jotunheim! Seems legit, right? Loki spends a lot of time trying to excuse Thor’s unladylike traits while Thor tries not to kill anyone. Read Loki-in-myth’s description of the story[ here](http://www.loki-in-myth.tumblr.com/post/27710077909/the-stealing-of-thors-hammer).
> 
> Re: "Amy": [Names are important](http://www.the-toast.net/2014/01/15/the-names-they-gave-me/), especially when they reflect one’s ethnic or religious heritage. White people often [refuse](http://www.theroot.com/articles/culture/2014/09/mispronounced_african_name_why_i_didn_t_correct_people_for_25_years.html) to learn how to pronounce foreign names, or assign European nicknames to strangers when our tongues fail to form the right syllables. Loki has been through a lot, but ze has no frame of reference to understand the racism America faces. Loki doesn’t yet understand why giving America a ‘white-sounding’ alias is different than calling Loki “Trixie”, but ze’s willing to stop when America asks.
> 
> Feel free to write up a comment if you’ve gotten this far- otherwise I don’t know what’s working and what isn’t in these fics.


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